


Miaya's Bearing(s)

by starrylitme



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confinement, Despair, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Instability, Muteness, Parent-Child Relationship, Physical Abuse, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a theory I'm very seriously stubbornly attached to.</p><p>In which being captured hardly phases Miaya but the circumstances are another story entirely. Likewise, this successful capture isn't very satisfying for Monaka either, considering...</p><p>...Well. Wow. This is a lot of baggage to sort through. I'd say we should hire a therapist, but, uh... <em>Well...</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Miaya's Bearing(s)

**Author's Note:**

> This was...awkward to write. I'm still not entirely sure what I was doing? It's gonna be even awkwarder if this theory is debunked.
> 
> BUT IT'S NOT DEBUNKED. COMPLETELY. YET. SOOOOOO...
> 
> Eh. Have this. It's experimental as hell and pretty weird as a result but I had fun writing this Miaya. (So much so that I might be invested in her now, welp.)

There’s not much despair in beating someone who won’t cry out.

In a soft lilt, with a girlish giggle and cock of her head, Monaka looked almost angelic as she said that. She stood in one of the few places where light filtered down, dust catching in the air, flashing them all a bright smile before beckoning them all forward.

She stumbles after the little girl, and the other children are hardly gentle in shoving her ahead. There’s a coquettish sway to Monaka’s hips—picked up from Enoshima Junko, no doubt—and she swallows back dust and saliva as her trembling gaze fixates on the back of the little girl’s head, with hair tied up like Enoshima Junko’s—but falling not as wild strawberry-blond strands, but soft locks of green.

She focuses on that—those rounded tresses that separated Monaka from Enoshima Junko’s image. That Monaka hadn’t raked a brush through them until the tresses separated—had kept her hair-ends that way—meant something.

In that largely hopeless place, and in this incredibly helpless position, this something was enough to push her forward for at least a moment.

* * *

“Onee-san.”

Monaka clearly calls her that to mock her. She’d know that even without the cheeky smile on Monaka’s face.

“You’ve helped create the Neo World Program later used by Naegi Makoto-san, correct?”

She nods.

“And you’re a leader of the Future Foundation, yes?”

Another nod.

“Seventh division?”

Nod.

“Monaka thought so!” Monaka claps with delight. It’s so cheerful and childish that it hurts to look at. “So do you know what the Future Foundation has _done_ with the Remnants of Despair?”

 _Nothing._ She signs. _Naegi Makoto is the one who—_

Monaka blinks blankly back at her. Her hands still, and she gestures that she needs something to write with.

“Do you not talk, nee-san?” Monaka asks innocently.

She shakes her head.

“When the others mentioned, Monaka thought nee-san was just being cheeky.” Rosy cheeks puff out. “But it’s true? _Why_? Why won’t you talk to me? Don’t I _deserve_ that much?”

She knows what Monaka’s trying to do. It still cuts deep. She shakes her head again, and repeats the gesture, but her implicit asking feels more like pleading.

Monaka scoffs.

“Very well, then.” She beckons one of the Monokuma kids over with a sigh. “Nee-san needs paper and something to write with. See what you can find.”

The unknown child is quickly on their way. Distantly, she wonders about their family, but when her gaze inevitably wanders back to Monaka on that thought, she quickly forces it down.

It’s cold in this room. Both hers and Monaka’s legs are crossed. In addition to that, both of their arms are folded in front of themselves, though Monaka quickly readjusts herself to pressing her cheek against her palm, fingers curled. A posture Enoshima Junko would’ve done, most likely.

She doesn’t comment on that—Monaka didn’t understand JSL, and she lacked a computer to speak through. She simply pushed the thought out of her head.

“You know,” Monaka muses suddenly, a dull, downwards curl at her lips. “It’ll get despairingly tiring having to wait for you to scribble each time I ask you something, onee-san.”

She nods at that, and not just because that’s what Monaka would expect.

“So!” Monaka claps as she exclaims. “Monaka came up with a compromise! A very, very generous compromise!” Another giggle, one that’s especially saccharine as she croons, “Isn’t onee-san such a lucky, _lucky_ girl?”

There’s no mistaking that contempt.

Still, she keeps her gaze politely averted, even as she tensely waits.

“Buuuut that saaaaaid,” Monaka’s voice drags into a high-pitched whine. “The idea of having to indulge onee-san’s selfishness is so, so, soooo— _so_ sickening! It’s just _sickening_!” And then she sighs, shifting to a stern, matter-of-fact tone. “So things might just have to be a little harder for onee-san afterwards. That’s _fair_ , isn’t it?”

There’s a cruel little smirk on this child’s face. With only a blink, she simply nods in response.

Monaka laughs, but, she really doesn’t look that pleased. If anything, the flicker of contempt in her eyes burns all the brighter.

The unknown Monokuma child arrives with crumbled paper and a few pens. Both are placed before her, and Monaka’s smile widens from across the table.

“So,” she says. “Do you have any questions, onee-san? Or at least anything to _say_?”

The click of the pen in her hand feels uncomfortably loud, but she’s been through enough that she can keep her hands still as she writes, in bold clear figures. She shows Monaka her response.

_Thank you very much, Monaka-chan._

Monaka’s smile immediately curls downward. She writes more to add to her message, and shows that as well.

_I really appreciate it._

“You really are sickening.” Monaka’s tone is flat and cold. “And so utterly— _despairingly_ pathetic.”

Monaka stands, motioning her to follow.

“Come on, onee-san.”

She follows, keeping the papers close to herself as she does.

* * *

While the two of them are walking, something happens.

Monaka’s left leg gives out, causing her to tumble to her knees. The Monokuma kids flinch, startled, and she too, stiffens at the sight. Monaka rubs at her calf through fabric of the dark stockings she wore, cursing. She’s pouting, eyes watery, and just—

She steps forward. She offers Monaka her hand wordlessly.

Monaka immediately smacks it away with a scowl.

“Don’t you **_dare_** ,” She’s seething. “You worthless _wretch_.”

She draws her hand back. One of the Monokuma kids helps Monaka up instead, and she leans on them as they all walk the rest of the way. Other children go and fetch a wheelchair, which Monaka soon settles in with an irritated groan.

She’s only really observing at this point, even with how closely behind she trails after Monaka. Monaka doesn’t say anything else to her—for a while, Monaka doesn’t even look at her.

She understands why. If nothing else—she deserves this much.

* * *

The room she is to be confined into is small and cold with only a sparsely covered bed in the corner and not much else, save for the laptop lying on the bed’s end.

She immediately goes for it, opening it up and booting the device as she settled on the bed’s edge, paying no mind to the scratchy chilliness of the bedcover’s surface against her bared thighs.

The laptop Monaka has given her is a surprisingly good model in addition to being in surprisingly good quality. Text-to-audio programs were easy to access once she started. Though the sound was still unsettlingly distorted as she tested the first with what else but,

_“Monaka-chan.”_

“Ugh.” Monaka’s face wrinkled with distaste. She’s still lingering by the doorway, but her chair does inch a little closer. “At least pick one that sounds cute to listen to, onee-san.”

She just nods, and tries another, fiddling with the settings so that the voice sounds more feminine.

 _“Monaka-chan.”_ A pause, and she types out, _“Will this one be adequate?”_

“That sounds like a drone but it’ll do just fine.” Monaka taps her fingers against the buttons of her wheelchair without pressing them. “So, back to our previous conversation. What did the Future Foundation do with the remnants of SHSL Despair?”

_“Naegi Makoto has taken them from the Future Foundation’s custody. As such, the Future Foundation no longer knows their whereabouts aside from their placement within the Neo World Program.”_

“But onee-san knows where they are?” Monaka asks expectantly. The Monokuma children nearby seem to gossip.

 _“Yes.”_ A pause. _“However, most of them are comatose due to unforeseen consequences. I’m afraid I do not know much more than that—I lost contact with Naegi Makoto shortly after the New World Program was started ahead of schedule.”_

“...Including Komaeda Nagito-san?”

 _“I believe so, yes.”_ That one had been a patient of hers, hadn’t he? He cared about talent as much as the headmaster at the time—but she hadn’t gotten much else out of him due to...incidents. Overall, however, she hardly knows the remnants by their individual names—or talents—but that contemplative look on Monaka’s face has her perking up, and filing that particular name away for significance.

There’s a connection here. She should delve into whatever that connection is, but—

This...is a delicate situation. It’s difficult to act practical. Especially when Monaka, as unpredictable as she can be in her imitation of Enoshima Junko—regardless of _everything_ , Monaka is still a child. She’s still a little girl.

A little girl, despair-ridden and disdainful—and she knows achingly well why.

“If onee-san doesn’t know much else, it can’t be helped,” Monaka sighs, looking upwards thoughtfully. “We can move onto other things.”

 _“What are your plans, Monaka-chan?”_ Her typing is swift. _“Do you plan to kill me?”_

“Should Monaka kill you?” The question almost seems innocently genuine, and the look she get is one with wide, dull doe eyes. The Monokuma children, too, are staring at her, though it remained impossible to truly examine their expressions hidden under those bulky helmets.

All the same, she honestly thinks that question over.

 _“Do you think my death here and now will bring upon despair?”_ A pause. She swallows and adds, _“Or catharsis?”_

“Huuuuh?” Monaka squints, brow furrowing. “What does onee-san mean by thaaaat?”

 _“Monaka-chan.”_ This dull, robotic tone couldn’t hope to emote what was leaking through her fingers. _“Considering what I’ve done, it is understandable you would want me dead.”_

“And you think just killing you will make me feel better about that?” Monaka asks, unexpectedly sharp. “What despair would come from that? Would anyone even mourn you?”

Her colleagues would hardly be surprised. They’ve all gotten used to family and friends dying. They’d mourn, certainly, but despair?

She...honestly doubts it. In a world like this, her death would only be...expectable.

Would it be a _waste_ to die for neither hope nor despair? Then again, it’s not as though she doesn’t _feel_ despair at the thought.

This is...a despairing situation to be in, being face-to-face with one of her most regrettable mistakes. She hasn’t a clue where to start rectifying it, except...

_“I’m sorry, Monaka-chan.”_

Monaka frowns. She doesn’t stop typing.

_“Words can’t convey how sorry I am. Whether you kill me or torture me, there is nothing I’ll regret more than abandoning you. From the bottom of my heart, I’m truly, genuinely sorry.”_

Monaka scoffs at that.

“Oh? My, a pathetic apology from a pathetic woman—but it’s hardly a surprise.”

Isn’t it?

_“Are you going to kill me, Monaka-chan?”_

“Do you want to die, _onee-san_?” Monaka puts emphasis on that word. “Do you _want_ Monaka to kill you? Would that be _easier_ on you?”

Perhaps it would.

How selfish.

How pathetic.

She types. _“I don’t want to die.”_

Monaka giggles at that, high-pitched like she doesn’t believe it.

 “Oh onee-san,” she says, lightly and fondly before tearing apart the syllables with the sweetest of smiles, “You’re really disgusting, o _nee_ -san. But, it’s hardly a surprise.” Her tone immediately drops to a cold, icy low, “You’re not worth anything dead. Not despair. Nor hope. But you have your uses alive—even if keeping you alive is...unpleasant.”

She doesn’t type anything in response. But the Monokuma children are giggling.

Monaka goes on, with saccharine cheer, “See—the Future Foundation _needs_ to be shown true despair, especially for taking that which belongs to Junko-onee-chan _and_ Monaka only to lose it to someone like Naegi Makoto-san.” Waving her finger, she explained, lowly and coolly, “Killing one of their own, especially if it’s only dull, dreary Gekkogahara _Miaya-nee-san_ , would hardly do that much.”

 _“What do you plan to do then, Monaka-chan?”_ She asks.

Monaka simply smiles at her. And then, “Nee-san, how easy do you think it’d be to infiltrate the Future Foundation through your _body_?” Smile widening, voice lowering, she adds, “After all, you intercepted _otou-chan_ the **_same way_** , right?”

She flinches at that. She immediately shoves out any and all thoughts of Tokuichi.

“The despair that is slipped in through something or someone innocuous—that taints from the inside out—that despair is nothing short of potent. Wouldn’t you say you agree?” Monaka asks, batting her eyelashes coyly with a birdlike tilt of her head. “Let’s start there when it comes to making the Future Foundation _despair_.”

 _“I will not betray my colleagues like that, Monaka-chan.”_ Simple clicks against the keyboard with steady fingers. _“It is better if you just kill me.”_

“I don’t expect anything from you,” Monaka says just as simply. “A weak-willed, pathetic woman like you is someone Monaka has no need to expect things from. I’ll just _use_ you, regardless of what you’re willing and unwilling to do.” Brightly, she chirped, “Just _like_ otou-chan!”

 _“Monaka-chan,”_ she’s almost desperately typing, even as her blank face gives nothing away, _“If you aren’t going to kill me, what do you plan to do with me?”_

“You’re going to feel true despair too,” Monaka answers like it’s obvious. “So _much_ despair, in fact, that you’ll be screaming with that mute voice of yours and crying with those creepy, empty eyes.”

She wondered what that meant. She dreaded what that meant.

_“Are you going to target Naegi Makoto as well?”_

“But of course!!” The exclamation was immediate, almost eagerly so.

 _“I see.”_ The robotic voice is suitably flat as it always is. _“If you fail as Enoshima Junko did, will you kill yourself as she did?”_

“Hmm.” Monaka seemed to genuinely think that over. “Does nee-san really care if Monaka does?”

 _“Yes.”_ For what it’s worth, she doesn’t hesitate. _“I care about what happens to you—as well as the rest of these children.”_

“Will nee-san despair if Monaka kills herself?”

 _“I will, yes.”_ She goes on, like this much is simple when not much else is. _“I don’t want you to die either, Monaka-chan.”_

“What a selfish woman you are,” Monaka murmurs in awe. Her eyes light up. “Say I don’t kill myself and get captured—are you going to protect me from the Future Foundation? Do they even know about our unsavory connection, _onee-san_? Hey, you’ve been asking what Monaka will do if she loses but—what will _you_ do?”

And wasn’t _that_ a question?

_“I’d like to continue talking to you, Monaka-chan. If I can help you, I’d like to.”_

“Because nee-san is the former _SHSL Therapist_.” She snickers. The other kids snicker. “Monaka will just be another one of your sad, despairing patients, right? And then, what? You’ll just leave again, won’t you?”

She shakes her head, and Monaka laughs _hard_ at that, even as the other children are uncomfortably quiet as she laughs and _laughs_ and—

“Liar!” she shouts it so cheerfully, but there’s an edge there that she’s trained to pick up on. “Adults are such liars! You’re unbearable, nee-san! You unbelievably, _exceptionally_ unbearable! You make Monaka despair so much that—well, maybe it won’t be too dull keeping you around after all.”

She pulls the laptop a little closer to herself, barely thinking about how it burns in her lap. Monaka giggles, though whether it’s at this, at her, or something else is a bit unclear. Then, with a delicate little wave, her wheelchair begins to roll out.

“Monaka has something else to do now, but will be back to speak with you some more,” she says before raising her voice, just a little. “If onee-san tries to use Monaka’s laptop to reach the Future Foundation—well, nothing will come out of it! It’ll just be a waste of time! Doesn’t that sound suuuuper despairing?”

For whatever reason, she asks. _“Are you going to fix your leg, Monaka-chan?”_

Monaka seizes up, and then shoots her the brightest, most radiant of smiles with a perfect, picturesque laugh.

“For whatever reason, Monaka can never get these silly things working right! Maybe sticking to the wheelchair would be best after all? Who knows? What a despairing thought!” And then, quieter, she asks, “Nee-san, you really shouldn’t take your legs for granted, ever. You never know what happens.”

Without another word, Monaka leaves, and the door is shut behind her by the children following her head. She doesn’t have to check to know that it’s locked, even as she closes the laptop and sets it aside.

She sits there, waits, and thinks for what felt like a long, long time.

* * *

She ends up falling asleep.

She ends up remembering a warm bundle wrapped in a soft blanket, held against her chest.

She had been panting, still silent as her throat felt ragged and raw, and yet that little bundle was just as quiet even while squirming.

Her daughter _did_ have a voice. She cried a few times, she mumbled once or twice. But, overall, she was—a quiet sort of contemplative back then, with the wide-eyed curiosity many infants had upon discovering the world around them.

She may have wondered if her daughter would end up inheriting her shyness, her silence—all sorts of struggles that she wouldn’t wish on someone else.

She doesn’t remember these moments all that clearly. She remembers Tokuichi—she remembers Haiji, to an extent. She doesn’t need a picture of them to recall their faces. But she had, more than a few times, wished she kept a picture of the baby getting blurrier and blurrier in her memories. The one with soft, green tufts of hair and bright inquisitive eyes.

The more her daughter’s face blurred, the more regret festered like an untreated wound. It had been a pathetic choice—and a selfish one—but hadn’t she trusted Tokuichi at the time even after she went back on her own word?

In the very least, she trusted him to make the most practical choice despite what she did. Tokuichi was a very practical man. She had liked that about him. At times, he seemed to be in tune with what people wanted. For that, she certainly had admired him.

She hadn’t really been surprised when she heard about what happened. But perhaps that was because—in a world that turned out that way—it just seemed so...expectable. She hadn’t even thought about what happened to Haiji, but—selfishly, self-importantly, she had wondered about her daughter.

For a while, she thought her daughter was dead. She mourned her, hadn’t she? Despairing moments just seemed to blur together.

But had she really known true despair? What had she tasted when she was finally, after all these years, face-to-face with her daughter—with Towa _Monaka_?

It was a sour taste. A pungent one. But there was something else in the despair—something more poisonous, more potent—something that had to be _hope_.

She wondered what Tengan would say. She wondered how Munakata would react.

She could blame Naegi Makoto—but she couldn’t. Naegi, too, was just another child as far as she was concerned. He was too idealistic—too naïve when it came to others. And yet she hadn’t refused her help when he wanted to use the Neo World Program, when he wanted to _save SHSL Despair_.

Maybe, she thought that if _they_ could be saved, then... Monaka, too...

She wakes with a bitter taste in her mouth, and giggling children leaning over her bedside. They’re giggling at how her arm is thrown protectively over the laptop, and how her body shivers in the chilled, closed off room. They’re giggly children and they’re still wearing those bulky Monokuma helmets that look like they hurt.

When she pushes herself up, they immediately scatter.

* * *

She’s brought cold meals. They’re plain, bland, and oatmeal with toast is more common than not. She eats them all the same, leaving only crumbs dusting the already spotty plate before she resumes work on the laptop.

Any attempts she makes at hacking leads to a video of a dancing Monokuma, with pop-y childish music playing in the background. Sometimes the style of dancing would be different. One attempt would get Monakuma performing ballet, another would get two Monokumas waltzing, another flamenco—one attempt had Monoukma performing a more traditional fashion of dancing, while dressed as the former SHSL Traditional Dancer. This latest attempt had Monokuma dressed as the late Maizono Sayaka, with a high-pitched remix of one of Maizono-san’s singles.

“Enjoying yourself, onee-san?”

Her gaze flickers upwards from the image of the monochromatic bear shaking its rear before she clicks out the video, silencing the music. Monaka stands at the doorway, hands on her hips with a cocky tilt of her head.

Another pose familiar to Enoshima Junko.

She already has the program open for her to type. _“Good morning, Monaka-chan.”_

“Good morning,” Monaka says it pleasantly enough. “You slept well, didn’t you? You’ve been eating, too, haven’t you? You’ve been just so—compliant! Monaka’s surprised!”

Dully, she bows her head, even as she keeps a careful gaze on Monaka. Monaka shuts the door behind her, walking with a clack of her heels. There’s confidence in her stride, but—

She wonders what’ll happen if Monaka’s legs give out in here. She can suspect how she herself will react but—she wonders about Monaka.

_If what happened before was any indication—_

“Oof!” Monaka plops down on the bed beside her, albeit with more than a respectable amount of distance. She’s still nothing short of cheerful. “Monaka’s come up with some plans involving you! Doesn’t that sound exciting? Onee-san, aren’t you excited?”

 _“Are you going to torture me?”_ She asks, with that dreary electronic ‘voice’.

“Who knows? With a voiceless victim, there’s not much to get. But _then again_ , you said you didn’t want to _die_ , right?” Monaka’s tone is playful, childish, and she swings her legs with a giggle. Somewhere in that noise, there’s clinking and metallic grinding, and perhaps that’s why the volume of Monaka’s laughter rises. “I wonder... How much despair can be wrung from pathetic, weak-willed onee-san anyway? Well! We’ll learn soon enough! But I’m so _despairingly_ impatient!”

She swallows, and swiftly, speedily types, _“What exactly do you plan to do, Monaka-chan?”_

Monaka laughs brightly, and says, simply and matter-of-factly, “It’s not about what Monaka plans to do, exactly, onee-san. It’s about what _you_ will do.”

 _“What, exactly,”_ her fingers almost slip, _“do you mean, Monaka-chan?”_

The bed creaks as Monaka pushes herself up, back to her feet.

“The Future Foundation expects to hear from you at least someday, right?” Her heels clack against the cold tiles, and she can’t help but turn her head at the sounds. “They’re expecting, in the very least, a sign that you’re either alive or dead.”

Monaka’s thoughtfully tapping her chin, eyes flickering to meet her own.

“Right?” she asks, and turns to fully face her, arms folded behind her back. Her head tilts with a coy smile on her face, and she leans forward at a slightly off angle while smiling down at her. Her voice raises. “ _Right_?”

In response, she only blinks a few times, registering the words—and the tone.

And then, small fingertips delicately brush against the curve of her cheeks.

“That said,” Monaka says, soft green eyes alit as her dimpled, rosy-cheeked smile stretches far across her face—but not far enough that it’s unsettling. “It’d be suspicious for nee-san to be found largely unscathed and in one piece. Don’t you think so?”

She thinks about the implications.

Monaka goes on, voice rising and rising, “In a despairing world like this, something like that would be _too good to be true_. So, in that case...”

Then, with a flick of her wrist, Monaka slaps her _hard_ across the face.

“Nee-san will have to be roughened up a bit first, huh?”

Another slap.

“That said, we will have to be at least a little _gentle_...”

Another.

“Because too much damage and they’ll think onee-san’s been tortured. If they think that, they might suspect onee-san might’ve told some...unsavory secrets.”

Another.

“There has to be a balance.”

Four.

“A very _delicate_ balance!”

Five.

“If onee-san gets off too easily, that’d be weird and suspicious! If she’s severely broken, that’ll be alarming and they’ll _suspect_ more happened on top of it!”

Six. And a pause.

“But,” Monaka pulls back with a light, pained laugh. “Perhaps Monaka’s worrying too much. Maybe the Future Foundation has more _faith_ in onee-san than Monaka is giving her credit for. Haha. Hahaha.”

 Monaka’s small hand curls into a fist. The punch comes at the same speed at her slaps, albeit with more of a jerk, and it hits just as hard. Just as painfully.

It stings, but her eyes remain glassy and blank, even as she knows her cheek is swelling, even as she knows blood is dribbling from her lower lip until it disappears into her scarf. She only shudders for a moment.

Monaka scoffs in disgust at the pathetic sight, rubbing at her reddened hand from her knuckles to her palm.

Distantly, she thinks that it must sting as well.

But, Monaka soon smiles, sweetly and cheerily, even as she keeps on rubbing her aching hand.

“Onee-san, what do you think?” she asks with a chipper lilt. “Do you agree? Or disagree?”

It takes her a while, but she manages to type, even as her head hangs low, even as she winces due to the tender burning of her swelling cheek in addition to the taste of blood heavy on her tongue.

_“I don’t feel strongly one way or the other.”_

“Oh, really?” Monaka looks at her red-painted nails over her reddened knuckles, observing them with an air of disinterest. “My, how typical.”

_“Monaka-chan, do you feel better?”_

Monaka does stiffen at that. And she types.

_“Did any of that make you feel better, Monaka-chan?”_

“Is nee-san playing therapist now?” Monaka’s tone is low, with something lurking underneath. The disinterested air from before hasn’t really dissipated—even as the atmosphere thickens.

 _“You’re avoiding the question, Monaka-chan.”_ She types.

“Oh no, how despairing!” Monaka exclaims, though it’s with dulled, undoubtedly fake enthusiasm. “But if nee-san must know, Monaka is in despair, as always. Monaka feels like she’s dying, like always. Does that make you feel better, nee-san? Or does it make you also _despair_?”

_“I’m sorry.”_

Monaka initially scowls at that pitiful response, but then, after a moment of blank-faced thoughtfulness, her lips suddenly curled into a smile.

“Is nee-san _really_?”

Her glance flickers upward, expression unchanged, and she responds simply.

_“I’m truly sorry, Monaka-chan.”_

“If that’s truly the case then—what can Monaka do but forgive you?” Monaka giggles, but keeps her tone light. Keeps it _innocent_. “Although, could Monaka make you even _sorrier_ , nee-san?”

 _“You resent me.”_ She types. _“That’s understandable. It’s also understandable that you’re angry, Monaka-chan. I understand.”_

“Of _course_ you do,” Monaka says, almost in a whisper, and then...

And then, Monaka leans forward.

When Monaka kisses her cheek, even with as light as the soft brush of contact was—it hurt more than anything else had before. It had made her flinch. Monaka giggled at that, leaning back in to whisper into her ear.

“Unfortunately, this doesn’t make it any better. But, for what it’s worth—your actions back then were also _understandable_ , weren’t they?” Her voice is low, even as she stresses out that word like it had done something wrong. “Because if there’s one thing adults are good at—it’s making excuses for themselves and any pathetic actions they commit out of weakness and self-interest.”

She stiffens at that. Monaka goes on.

“Monaka _understands_ , of course—difficult situations call for difficult choices. It’s _understandabl_ e. But.” Monaka takes a handful of light blue tresses and pulls none too gently. “That doesn’t make the despair any less. If anything, Monaka despairs _more_.”

Somehow, she manages to type out a response. _“Despair is far from the only thing that can be found in mutual understanding. There might be hope in this situation as well, despite everything.”_

“Hmm.” Monaka gives another pull.

_“I think that if we understand one another, we can help one another.”_

Another hum. Another pull.

_“I don’t expect your forgiveness, nor will I defend my actions in the past. But at this moment, I will reiterate—I want to help you, Monaka-chan.”_

Monaka laughs and releases her hair, pulling back as she did with a twist at the edge of her smile.

“All Monaka wants is despair, onee-san. It’s just that simple.”

Enoshima Junko had no motives outside of despair.

Enoshima Junko could not—would not be reasoned with, although Naegi Makoto couldn’t have been expected to succeed in doing so.

Monaka tried so hard to be just like Enoshima Junko—but she wasn’t the same Enoshima Junko.

She has soft green hair and a cherubic face with round, ruddy cheeks.

She’s a small, pitiful little girl who can use that pitifulness to her advantage.

She was born on the first day of April.

She doesn’t look anything like her father. Not at all.

She’s seen Monaka’s face in old photographs—but never in images of Tokuichi.

The blank look Monaka sometimes regards her with—she’s seen that expression reflected back in every single mirror.

Monaka is not the same as Enoshima Junko. _Monaka-chan is Monaka-chan._

But that did not necessarily mean that she could be—would be reasoned with in the same way as Enoshima Junko was incapable of and unwilling to be _._

But did she hope in spite of that? Did she despair because of that?

In times where one either hopes or despairs, she wonders.

That said... She _did_ hope, and she _did_ despair.

Because.

“Onee-san.”

Monaka was snapping her fingers in front of her face. Her expression remained vacant and unresponsive, even as Monaka’s voice rose.

“O _nee_ -san.”

Still nothing, and then, with a heavy sigh and the sweetest of smiles and lilts, she said instead,

“ _Okaa-chan_ , you understand Monaka, don’t you?”

Immediately, she flinches.

Because—it’s hard to think about how a word like that could contain so much despair—and also so much of that potent, poisonous hope. It’s hard to think about how it just moves her fingers, because she’s not sure if she can think past anything anymore, except...

_“I understand, Monaka-chan.”_

Monaka giggles, clapping her hands in delight and then, “Excellent! It’s going to be fun!”

She swallows and asks, _“What’s going to happen?”_

“Ah, right,” Monaka hums, folding her arms before tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Monaka hasn’t really explained anything, huh? Monaka started to, but—I suppose I got distracted...”

If she had to make a guess on what Monaka was planning from what was said earlier... She supposed that, _“You’re returning me to the Future Foundation?”_

“Yes! After all, nee-san is one of their leaders—so you can’t just be MIA for too long. It’d be worrying—even if the despair would be rather paltry.” She seemed to shrug it off. “I’d like something...a little more entertaining. More of a _show_ , if you will. Not just involving the Future Foundation—but Naegi Makoto-san as well.”

_Enoshima Junko wanted the same._

Still, that hardly explained much. _“And what will be my part in this?”_

“I’ll be using you, of course. Monaka said that earlier, right?”

_“What did Monaka-chan mean by that?”_

“You know how the saying goes that children are extensions of their parents?” Monaka asks, and then looks at her meaningfully with a smile. “Something like that? Well, it’d be the opposite here.”

Her gaze did narrow at that. She types. _“That’s an inaccurate saying, Monaka-chan.”_

“Is it?” Monaka giggles at her for the response. “Well, I suppose you’re right. But it doesn’t stop people from feeling that way, even people who _know_ that it’s an inaccurate statement. Is that wrong?” Monaka’s smile sharpens, her own eyes narrowing. “Are you going to _lie_ to me?”

A moment of silence. She shuts her eyes. She shakes her head. She types. _“That said, does Monaka-chan feel that way?”_

“Well...” Monaka’s voice drags for a bit. “To an extent, I suppose. But in every adult lies a child to be twisted and used, you know.” Pulling out a handkerchief and using that to dab away the blood from her lower lip and chin, Monaka met her gaze with a twisting smile. “You’re already so much like a doll, nee-san. Let’s see what you can do once broken in.”

She meets her gaze with only a sliver of a wince. _“I won’t betray them.”_

Monaka laughs.

“Honestly,” she says. “The Future Foundation will probably tear themselves apart before nee-san even lifts a finger, considering some of its members.”

...There, unfortunately, wasn’t much arguing with that.

* * *

In times where one either hopes or despairs, she thinks. She wonders about what’s going to happen. She reflects on what has happened.

She reflects on a small, squirmy bundle and then wonders about Towa Monaka, taking on the legacy of Enoshima Junko, with an angelic smile and normally softly rounded hair tied up in high, wild ponytails.

She reflects on Naegi Makoto, promising that he’ll save SHSL Despair, and the wonders where that will have gotten him—what would happen when, inevitably, the Future Foundation punished him for that tender-hearted treachery.

She reflects on Tengan’s gentle, knowing smile to Munakata’s cold, stern seriousness contrasting so much to Yukizome’s friendly grin—and she wonders about them.

She reflects on the patients she’s had from anxiously scribbling children to fidgety rambling adults. She listened, she took mental notes, and Usami made things so much easier after she came to be.

Monaka, as it turned out, was also quite fond of Usami.

_“I won’t let you have your way!”_

_“I can’t lose! I won’t! I refuse!”_

_“You won’t get away with this!”_

Monaka giggled, typing command after command for Usami to exclaim back. The Monokuma children seemed just as entertained.

She watched, reflecting on other children Usami made laugh, and wondered.

* * *

“Why are you working to be a therapist?”

_“That is a strange question. It’s because I’d like to help others better themselves.”_

“What about yourself?”

_“Me?”_

What a strange question.

Rewind.

“You’re quite the hard worker, aren’t you, Gekkogahara-kun?”

_“I just do my best, Towa-san.”_

“Still, you’re quite _talented_ , aren’t you?”

She flinches as warm, worn hands squeeze her shoulders.

“And to think...” he says, and then purrs in a low, low voice. “You’re so _young_...”

Fast-forward.

“You’re pretty good at programming and hacking... But your talent’s still therapy, huh?”

_“Yes. Is there something wrong, Matsuda-kun? Something else you wish to ask me?”_

“Urgh.” He grimaces. “Don’t even worry about that, _sensei_.”

_...but why..._

“Despair must be eliminated.”

_...did things..._

“I believe that I can save them.”

_...turn out..._

“You can keep it if you’ll take care of it.”

**_...like this?_ **

“Gekkogahara, any updates?” Munakata asks. His expression doesn’t change even as she shakes her head.

“Miaya-san, you really are a hard worker,” Yukizome says. She’s smiling, and that smile doesn’t falter even when unreturned.

_This isn’t simply despair, is it? There’s something else here._

Something else with a bitter, sour taste all the same.

_...Is it really hope?_

* * *

When she wakes, there’s a bracelet around her wrist.

The bracelet is tight enough that it doesn’t chafe. Still, she rubs at it irritably.

She recognizes it. She knows what it is.

For not the first nor the last time, she wonders if she’s going to die here. It’s an exceedingly likely possibility and she—

She notices the door is open.

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed and stands. She takes the laptop with her as she leaves.

Whatever’s up ahead, she supposes she’ll have to face it all the same.


End file.
